


I am with you forever, the end.

by dragon_rider



Series: can't face the dark without you [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mirror Universe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time, Captain James T. Kirk of the I.S.S. Enterprise returns defeated. He's ready to face the consequences, ready to meet another side of the man he serves and shares everything with, a side he fears but is enthralled with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am with you forever, the end.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Surfaced](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surfaced/gifts).



> I like my mirrorverse vanilla and my Bones on top.
> 
> ETA: Sort of sequel over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/508538).

There’s blood prickling at his side, tiny droplets staining the transporter pad he’s standing on.

He sets his jaw, his feet landing firmly outside the platform. He salutes his crew, unruffled, and exists while they’re at parade rest, C.M.O. in tow.

He can feel the tension saturating the air around them in the turbolift; a dormant, vicious whip laying somewhere just waiting to meet his skin at the first chance it gets. If metaphoric or not, Jim isn’t sure, but he bets it is and in that case, it’s probably much worse than that.

It’s not something he experiences often, this fear curling in his stomach as he waits for the older man to snap, and he’ll deny the very existence of such a thing even if it costs him his life, but it’s there and he’s scared.

No one knows the true extent of Bones’ power, how far his reach goes. They might think he uses all his medical training to his advantage, twisting it to induce disease and pain instead of curing and treating it, but that’s not even half of it.

They have no idea.

Bones doesn’t need an ounce of that knowledge. Hell, he doesn’t even need weapons or the use of his hands. He can turn a sane man to the other end of the rope so quickly with just his tongue, and perhaps a finger or two, that nobody could tell what happened to the drooling mess he left behind.

The truth is Jim doesn’t need any kind of lethal device. He’s got plenty of that with Bones on his side. The only con of this agreement is his place in it, something that he’s never understood entirely except for his gut telling him the essential part of it is the word _replaceable_ beside his name in it.

But he’d be a fool to say no to this despite all the risk that comes with it. He thinks that being the only one able to see the real Leonard McCoy is worth it and he’d probably die any day to defend that privilege that he privately and stupidly considers as his right by now, a right he’s not willing to share or exchange for anything.

He’s antsy when the door of his quarters closes behind them. He’s aware he did a lot of improvising down there on the planet surface and even though that’s his modus operandi and Bones seems okay with it, normally Jim is at least partially successful.

This time, all he got from all his trouble was destruction, impossible frustration instead of mild satisfaction settling heavy on his chest as he directed it.

And there’s this ugly possibility that he’s trying hard to push away, the possibility of him making a mistake somewhere along the way, of him missing a crucial step that would’ve handed him what the Empire was seeking.

His mind reels for a moment in search of answers, of alternative outcomes but he forces it down swiftly.

It’s not like there’s much he can do, even if that ends to be the case. He can only submit to his punishment as quietly as he’s able to and hope to get another chance to get it right.

Bones fixes him with a look, face unreadable. More than familiar with that expression, Jim sits down on his desk, tight-lipped, killing his urge to fight back before it has even an opening to be released.

So it comes as a surprise, to feel the slight sting of the hypospray on his neck and Bones’ hand lightly tracing the wound on his flank before cleanly ripping his shirt from his body with a single twist of his wrist.

At hearing his gasp, Bones allows a smirk to reach his lips but otherwise keeps absolutely mute as he works on Jim.

Admittedly, the painkillers are making him a bit slow, but Jim still waits for the blow to come. He knows better than most people, knows that it always hurts the most when you’re not expecting it, when you think the worst has passed, so he sits tight, spine straight and stance forcefully meek, muscles straining from the effort of keeping still.

Bones finishes closing his injury with precise, economic movements. There’s still the ghost of a leer on his face and Jim is still wary of what’s coming next, all he can do to keep a semblance of dignity is refusing to close his eyes as Bones holds his chin and tilts it up, his grip unyielding but not bruising.

Jim is not saying sorry, because he’s not, because he did all he could back there. He has no clue whether it was all that could’ve been done or if it was him who came out short, but he won’t apologize for trying his best.

He might be weaker than the man in front of him, but he’s not _weak_. He won’t break before his torment starts.

This is the first time—the first time he has failed. The expectation of knowing what his one and true leader will say about it throbs like a living thing in his veins, a part of him looking forward to the glorious pain this powerful man can inflict, eager and greedy to know each and every side of him both bad and worse.

The reasonable and often disregarded part of Jim is terrified. It wants to run, to beg, to amend, anything but endure something it knows he won’t be able to go through in one piece, not really.

He ignores it once again.

He’s already given himself completely to Bones. He has nothing to defend and everything to offer.

Something flashes in Bones’ eyes then, the green-gold of them bright and purposeful in a way Jim’s never seen but gone too fast for him to figure out.

Certain softness lingers on his expression. He has just enough time to notice it before Bones’ mouth nibbles at his lips, demanding entrance and getting it immediately in between shocked recognition.

It hurts so much more than Jim thought it would, the fact that Bones is going to use _this_ —the one thing Jim gave him because he truly wanted to, not because of how crazy it’d be to refuse the chance to stand by his side in all his obscure and concealed magnificence; the one thing Jim thought it was _theirs_ , not the Captain of the I.S.S. Enterprise and his Chief’s.

He’s not going to show it, though. Not yet, if he can help it. He turns the pained moan that managed to get out of his throat to a thrilled one and is ready to bite back, ready to give in but retreat at the same time when suddenly it stops.

“For fuck’s sake, Jim,” Bones curses letting him go, bristling, “You made no mistake! Why are you still waiting for me to punish you? Because you came here with nothing, is that it? Since you also left nothing behind, I see nothing wrong with it.”  
“But,” Jim frowns, insisting, “I failed. I didn’t bring you—“  
He expects Bones to roll his eyes, if anything, before telling him how he’s going to give him what he deserves since he wants it so much. “Sometimes plans crash, Jim, simple as that,” the doctor says instead, bringing him closer to the edge of the table, his hand territorial and _right_ as it holds Jim by the small of his back. His tone borders on gentle when he adds, “I won’t ask for miracles, not even from you.”

Jim lets out the breath he’s been holding virtually since the beginning and simultaneously shudders in wonder, finally allowing his guard down.

It’s out of his mouth before he realizes it; the quiet, breathy whisper that exposes too much of him in just two syllables, “Bones.”  
But whatever it’s showing to Bones, he seems to like it enough as he nips nimbly at Jim’s bottom lip, voice hoarse and sourness lacking in his retort, “You idiot.”

They kiss, a slow and calm unfurling of lips on lips. Jim tries to take things further every now and then, but Bones seems content to just keep memorizing his taste with the sureness of having all the right and time in the world to do it, all the right and time to inspect and prod what it’s his.

For the first time in his life, Jim feels content—almost safe in his place between Bones’ arms.

Maybe this foolish affection he keeps locked inside at all times except when they’re fucking—and even then a little bit, for insurance—has a correlate in Bones’ side.

Maybe he’s equally, or at least slightly, in love with both the best and worst in him just as Jim is in love with the marvel he is, the unfathomable mixture of game and scheme, of caring and hurting, of sweetness and roughness.

Whether the feeling exists or not they will never talk about it. This is a fact.

But Jim will stay forever at his side and that is also—wonderfully, terribly so—a fact.


End file.
